Public Television and Radio

I wrote the comment in Bold below, and it spawned a blog. You can see the original, comment at Hulles' blog.

They filmed...taped... whatever an episode of the Prairie Home Companion here recently.

Stupidly, I did not go.

Because... I sort of couldn't bring myself to be that...Public Radio-y...

Even though I am.

Even though I enjoy Public Television.

Even though I went to college at Madison... and understand the jokes in the Prairie Home Companion. And think they're funny. Because... they're true.

I think I feel a blog coming on... 'scuse me.

That's something I feel like I have to start taking advantage of more when it rolls into Miami. I need to tap more into my "inner nerd."

Because I am phenomenally dorky. I love Public Radio and Television. Even though I come off all "cool" and "hep" and "with it" and not "sometimes I like to sit home on Friday nights" and not at all "drama-club-y."

I should have gone to the Prairie Home Companion. It would have SUCKED. Just like when Shawn and Elad and I went to see "Hester Street" and it blew. But at least...I wouldn't have felt guilty. I would have gone, and hated it, because I would have felt too nerdy being there. Just like I went to "Hester Street" and hated it because the geriatric denturefiend behind us chewed gum so loudly, it made me throw up on my balls a little bit.

And really, isn't that what life's all about? Going to Artistic Events because you're starved for culture, but feeling uncomfortable with your "elderly-to-middle age" taste in things, that, say, shell out forty bucks to see "Peter Paul and Mary?"

Introductory Note by E.G. Deadworry

On last St Spasmus's day Miss D. Awdrey-Gore was found dead at the age of 97. Just before dawn a nameless poacher came upon her body in a disused fountain on the estate of Lord Ravelflap; she was seated bolt upright on a gilt ballroom chair, oneo f a set of seventeen then on display at Suthick & Upster's Auction Rooms in Market Footling; her left hand clutched a painted tin lily of cottage manufacture, inside of which was rolled up a Cad's Relish label of a design superseded in 1947; something illegible was penciled on the back. That she had been murdered was obvious, though as yet the cause of death has not been determined.

One Moment she was sitting there; the next, she'd vanished into air.
~ The Ipsaid, can. VI

It will be remembered that Miss Awdrey-Gore was one of the most prolific (vide our Two-Shilling Reprint Library) and celebrated writers of detective stories at the time of her unexpected disappearance on St Spasmus's eve in 1927. On various occaisions since then, she has been reported (among a number of other possibilities) in a private lunatic asylum, living in Taormina dressed as a man, married to a Salubrian nobleman in Slobgut, or alternately, a garage mechanic in Idle-on-Sea, in religious retreat on the slopes of Kanchenjuga. But always falsely: her whereabouts for the past forty-four years remain unknown.

Several days after her reappearance, in a nearby surbubrban villa an oiled-silk packet came to light beneath the false bottom of an elephant's foot umbrella stand. Done up with mauve string and indigo blue sealing wax, it was addressed to my late grandfather, G.E. Deadworry, then (in 1927) head of Deadworry and Silt, her publishers. The packet's contence in their entirety - though certain things are patently missing - are reproduced on the following pages...

Saturday

I took advantage of Join One See Them All on Saturday, to get into Vizcaya for free. Vizcaya is one of my favorite places in Miami, although usually when I'm there, I'm wasted and breaking my nose on Halloween.

As I had never really gotten acquainted with the fancy digital macro features on my camera, I took the opportunity to go to the Gardens and poke around. Here are some of my pictures. Yeah, they're boring Landscapey pics... someday I'll take a class on proper composition.

What I really love, though, are the Edwardian, Goreyesque Urns and Obelisks everywhere...